I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead by Charles Tranberg Page B

impressive films and they were the home studio of the
hugely popular Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers musicals, but overall their
output didn’t break even — they often ended the year well in the red. So
they decided to gamble on someone different, like Welles.
    They gave Welles the run of the studio. According to David Thomson,
in his book, Rosebud, “Mercury had a group of bungalows on the lot in
Culver City; Welles had his own steam room, as well as a masseur. He had
his private cook, who made lunches for everyone: hamburgers, several
inches thick, made from fat-free sirloin, and homemade tapioca pudding.
Then he would hold court, sitting at his ease, telling gorgeous stories
about himself.”
    At first it seemed that The Spectator and others were right. It was taking
forever for Welles to finalize what his initial project would be. Initially,
Welles had thought of filming Joseph Conrad’s classic novel, Hearts of
Darkness, but that fell through due to the limits of how much he could
spend. Then he wanted to do an original film titled, The Smiler with a
Knife. But that fell through because he couldn’t get the leading lady he
wanted — first Carole Lombard and then Lucille Ball.
    The studio was paying salaries for the Mercury members on a weekly
basis and had nothing yet to show for it, so by Christmas, 1939, they sent
Welles a letter informing him that unless he had something concrete on the
table for them by New Year’s, they would go off the payroll. A meeting on
the situation was held in Chasen’s and led to a major fight, but not a total
break, between Welles and John Houseman. Welles apparently said he
wanted to make sure everybody got paid, even if he had to pay for it out of
his own pocket — but because his business managers were robbing him
blind, he didn’t have the money for payroll. To Houseman, this was the
height of hypocrisy. Welles had spent money like there was no tomorrow
since he had arrived in Hollywood and now he was blaming others for there
not being enough money. He challenged Orson. “What are you going to
do?” Welles angrily asked Houseman what he was going to do. Houseman
told Orson to “tell the truth for once.” Orson flew off at Houseman: “I
don’t lie to actors. I’ve never lied to an actor in my life! You’re the one who
lies! That’s why they hate you! You’re a crook and they know it!”
    In the end they had no choice but to try and come up with a project as
soon as possible. Enter Herman J. Mankiewicz, who was a screen and radio
writer, including for The Campbell Playhouse. Houseman later recalled
Mankiewicz (or “Mank” as he was commonly called) as a “. . . neurotic drinker
and compulsive gambler, he was also one of the most intelligent, informed,
witty, humane and charming men I have ever known.” Welles employed
Mank to help come up with an idea for the new film.
    It was while Mankiewicz was recuperating from an automobile accident
in February 1940 in Victorville, California that he recalled an idea he wanted
to film years before: the story of a man’s life recalled in flashbacks by the
people who knew him. Welles liked the idea and together he and
Mankiewicz began to brainstorm ideas on whose life they could base their
script on. “ . . . we started searching for the man it was going to be about.
Some big American figure, but it couldn’t be a politician, because you’d
have to pinpoint him. Howard Hughes was the first idea. But we got
pretty quickly to the press lords.” Initially the project was named by
Mankiewicz, American.
    Eventually a screenplay was fashioned and titled Citizen Kane. It is the
story of Charles Foster Kane, a publishing tycoon who dies at his extravagant
mansion, Xanadu. As he is dying, his last word is “rosebud.” A reporter is
assigned to find out the meaning of Kane’s last word and doggedly
interviews several people who knew Kane to find the answer to that puzzle.
    That the film was a thinly veiled biography of publishing